A Sequel
by Emmajaaaaay
Summary: Augustus promised Hazel that he would write her a sequel to An Imperial Affliction. This is a sequel to Hazel's life. Please note: this does contain spoilers. All copyright goes to John Green. No infringement intended. His characters and book belong solely to him.
1. Chapter 1

I take the elevator down to the Support Group, feeling a little lost without the towering figure of Augustus beside me. Everything reeked of his presence. I could somehow link each part of my daily life to him which made it difficult to realise that he was gone. On this particular day, I could not stop thinking about Amsterdam and the elevator ride before going to his room; the mirrored elevator where we and the mirrored couples kissed, passionately without regret. We could've easily been any other teenage couple enveloped in red hot love – if you looked past my oxygen tank and Augustus' prostheticleg. I couldn't ignore the pain in my head which set off little alarm bells. That's the thing about pain. It demands to be felt. Oh Augustus how I long to hear you say that one more time.

_"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference." _Like always, the Support Group started with this spoken by ball-less Patrick. It never meant much to me before, but now I understand. I understand the price of living, I understand the statistics my life is against. Everyone in this room is a statistic, nervously waiting to see which side they will fall upon. There is still that selfish competitive nature within our group; each wanting to outlive the other, I cannot deny I don't feel this way either. But I outlived the one person I did not want to.

Sitting in the heart of Jesus, I could not help but think of my first time seeing Augustus here. The shock he must've received seeing someone who looked like his ex girlfriend walk in. Did he know he was going to fall in love with me? I am nothing like her and maybe that came as a relief to him. If I close my eyes I can almost pretend he is still slouched in a plastic chair across from me. He looked the picture of perfect health when he came here; nothing like the weak Gus in a wheelchair that he became. Watching someone die without being able to help them is the most difficult thing to do and the trickiest to describe unless you have experienced it. I loved him though; to the end I loved him. I watched him grow weak, as the cancer thrived upon him. I watched him battle for his life, using everything he had to stay alive but love is watching someone die.

No, I thought. I didn't want to be sad over Augustus. I wanted to remember his goofy smile reserved only for me and the way he said my name – Hazel Grace. It rolled off his tongue like it was only meant for him to say. I wanted to see a cigarette hanging from his mouth, just one more time. But the world is not a wish-granting factory so I could only hope that he had his cigarettes in the great wide Something. The Support Group was only good in supporting my longing for Augustus – the first place I had laid eyes on him. I can still remember his words to me here; the first time anyone had called me beautiful since the cancer took hold of my body. Augustus was a lot of my 'first times' but after having loved him I don't think anyone else would have been appropriate.

My thoughts were interrupted by Patrick's voice saying Augustus at the end of the prayer. His name did not deserve to be there. Augustus was not meant for death – he was meant for greatness. He always said he was on a roller coaster that only goes up; to where I never thought about but now it's someplace I know I cannot visit until the time is right. But I cannot sit here and mope over my sadness; I have Isaac to guide home. I take him by the arm, gently helping him walk. It must've hit him hard to know that his best friend was dead but he was not able to look at him one last time. Isaac and I only had one another now but we even knew it was not the same without Augustus.

Isaac is quiet throughout the journey home. He requested that I put on The Hectic Glow so that we could appreciate what Augustus could not. We did not know what to talk about now. It seemed like everything revolved around Augustus, and it still did but there were no more memories to be made with him. It was nearly a year since Augustus died but it felt like yesterday. I didn't want to forget him but I didn't want my memory of him to be an injustice of just how incredible he was.

I arrive at Isaac's house and like always I go in to play Counterinsurgence 2: The Price of Dawn. Everything reminded me of Augustus; damn that boy. Isaac and I actually tried to play for a while but we still died time and time again. Not those heroic deaths like Augustus performed, but deaths all the same. I wonder if he thought his actual death was just as heroic. He wasn't dying to save a school full of children, but to me that didn't matter. I wouldn't have wanted him to die, even if it would save me.

Slowly our deaths became more careless and it was clear our passion for the game was lost. Isaac put it on pause and we sat in silence for a couple of minutes.

"Hazel?" Isaac started off quietly.

"Yeah, Isaac; what's up?"

"I always called Augustus a self-aggrandising bastard and it was true. I have never known someone who was so aware of his greatness, but there is no point in denying just how great he was. I loved him, even when he only spoke of you. That's when I knew he truly loved you – the fact that nothing else was on his mind except you: you in your sundress; you and your book; you and your surprising comments. He would've promised you the world and the stars and all the space in between. But sometimes people don't understand the promises they're making when they make them. Yet they keep them anyway; that's what love is. Love is keeping the promise anyway. I have learned to live without my sight but I will never learn how to live without him and I don't think I want to. But don't let the loss of Augustus stop you from seeing that things can and will be okay." He paused, long enough for me to understand.

"If Augustus was here, he would've commented on my use of 'seeing' since I can't see anything." He chuckled, but it quickly faded to silence; it was still too soon to make jokes.


	2. Chapter 2

I awake to a sharp stabbing pain in my skull; it feels like pins are being pushed into various parts of my brain. My lungs are deflated balloons and every atom of oxygen has decided that it hates my body and so avoids it with all their might. I try to scream but a measly whimper escapes my lips. I begin to panic as my limbs become heavy, heavy without oxygen. It feels like fireworks are exploding inside my skull, flying debris into my brain like confetti. I can't escape the pain and it encompasses me entirely. I pray for sleep, unconsciousness, even death to come and sweep me into their peaceful arms. Anything would be better than this pain. My lungs are trying so hard to breathe, but my heart is slowing down. My eyelids are closing but not before I catch a glimpse of him, Augustus standing at the end of my bed; a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, but no sign of a crooked smile.

I wake up in the ICU, just like last time. Alone and confused by how I ended up here. It is never quiet; beeps and wails echo throughout the place, trying to drown out one another. I lay staring at the ceiling, listening to the alternating sounds. The machines symbolised life which contrasted with the cries symbolising death. I wonder how my parents will react when I finally die. Will they openly cry, exposing their pain, or will they be subtle, letting tears run down their cheeks. I hit the red call button which it all becomes too much to think about.

The nurse arrives quickly with a tight smile, my parents following behind her. They run to my bedside crying but looking relieved to see me. I am enveloped in their arms, feeling their love radiate outward. This is not like last time though. There are no smiles or reassuring words of health. They only have time to say my name before Dr Maria walks in with her team of doctors.

"Hazel I am glad to see you are awake, but I'm afraid I have some bad news for you." She looks me in the eye and I know this is it. My stomach drops to my toes and I find it difficult to swallow.

"As we have discussed before, your drug Phalanxifor controls cancer growth but cannot stop it. Cancer will find a way to evolve in spite of the drug and unfortunately in your case, the cancer has spread to your brain. I wish there was a way to treat you but the doctors and I have concluded that any treatment would be futile. We will give you pain relief and a trial drug in attempt to length your life but you have mere months to live my dear and for that I am truly sorry."

I can see my dad crying with his arms wrapped around my mom. I don't know what to think. My thoughts are scrambled, crawling around the cancer devouring my brain cells. I wonder how Augustus felt when he found out about his inevitable death. Did his parents break down like mines are in the process of? I hate to think of his suffering now; I hate the image of a weak cancer-riddled Gus hunched over in his wheelchair. But he still called me Hazel Grace and joked in the face of death. He had the strength I do not, now that I know death is oncoming.

I am allowed to leave the hospital after a week, even though I have to continue my medication at home. It doesn't feel like I am dying. I still watch copious amounts of bad television shows with my parents beside me. Breathing has become harder though, like my lungs are being pressed down by a great weight. I find it difficult to form coherent thoughts at times and I begin to panic, thinking of the cancer feasting on my dwindling brain cells. Is this what Caroline Mathers experienced; the sensation that something was gnawing away at her brain, her thoughts, her memories. I don't know what this cancer was capable of but it frightens me; the same kind of fear that Augustus felt towards oblivion. I like being a person. I want to keep at it. I don't want to become a shell, full of cancer and devoid of myself.


	3. Chapter 3

I cannot remember things easily now. It has only been a month (or so I'm told, I can't really remember) since my diagnosis but my brain is deteriorating and fast. I'm not allowed to drive anymore, but some days I go over to Isaac's. There is something missing from there and I can't exactly pinpoint what it is. My lungs are so very heavy and there is nothing I can do to relieve them of the strain. My oxygen tank is trying its hardest to keep me alive.

The back garden has become a familiar haunt of mine. I sit outside, with my head up in the clouds. I watch the birds that fly with grace, wishing I was up there with them. I wonder how it feels to be able to fly; to feel the wind against you and to look down on the world. If anything, I'd like to live on a cloud. That looks enjoyable. Someone once told me that in the clouds, wind blows at one hundred and fifty miles per hour, the temperature is thirty below zero and there is no oxygen meaning you would surely die if you were to go there. I'm going to die anyway but at least I could have the sight of earth as my last. I think it was Augustus who told me that. I wonder if the Something he believed in is up the clouds. What does oxygen or wind or temperature matter when you're simply a spirit?

I'm pretty sure there was a swing set at bottom of the garden. I'm not sure of anything nowadays.

It has become difficult to remember what Augustus looked like. I can see a vague outline of the boy I loved. Cancer kills everything; I feel an unquenchable hatred towards it. I can't stop imagining this monstrous tumour attached to my brain, feasting on each part. However it cannot steal my love for Augustus. I have that one picture of him on my phone, which is the only reminder of just how incredible he was; in appearance and mind. He has an unlit cigarette in his mouth, his smile deliciously crooked, and is holding a mostly empty pink egg carton above his head. His other hand is draped around Isaac's shoulder whose sunglasses are turned not quite toward the camera.

Days merge into one another and I have lost track of time. I think a second month has passed.

I wake up to the sound of birds chirping, and sunlight streaming through my window. My lungs feel light, almost normal. I feel like fighting and breathing and living. I call for my mom who comes running from the kitchen

"Morning, Hazel. How are you feeling?" She pops her head in the door

"I feel good, almost healthy. What date is it?"

She pauses then, reluctant to answer but does anyway: "It's been a year since Augustus died, sweetie. I'm not sure if you would like to visit him or not."

At the mention of his name, my heart speeds up and I know I have to go. It's what Augustus would've wanted. "Yes I'd like to visit him. Would you take me?"

Augustus's grave is not so new anymore. The earth has moulded back into shape and the granite headstone stands proud, inscribed with:

_'Augustus Waters. _

_Beloved Son, Brother, Friend._

_Without Pain, How Could We Know Joy?'_

I kneel down at the end of his plot, the oxygen tank my only companion. I want to say something, break the silence like Augustus would. My hands slide through the grass, tugging at random parts.

"Augustus, how I miss you. When I think of my life, I think of you automatically. I think of your crooked walk that was paired with your crooked smile. I always liked your goofy smile better; the one that was too big for your face but perfect to me. I think of myself as a grenade, but you were also one too. When you died, little pieces of yourself went flying into the people around you. I am left with your love and your metaphorical cigarettes. I don't believe in an afterlife or even the Something that you do but I hope to maybe see you once I've died, even for a minute. This cancer. It's eating my brain and my lungs and there's nothing I can do. My days are numbered and they are running out quickly but you once gave me a forever within those days. I'll be seeing you soon. I can only hope this time the forever does last. Okay?" I kiss my hand and place it on his gravestone before I leave. I can just imagine Augustus's disappointment at not receiving a real one. Augustus if you can hear me, I think, just wait a little longer. You'll get your kiss.

This was my Last Good Day.


	4. Chapter 4

My lungs have given up. I can feel my oxygen tank fighting to keep me alive but my lungs do not want to work. It is screaming at them that it is not time, I will survive this. I take in wheezy breaths and I want to rip my cannula out to speed up the process of dying. My parents lay either side of me, worried expressions taint their faces. I watch their lips quiver whenever I breathe and I can see the pain in their eyes. I want to cheer them up. Come on I'm not dead yet. I don't want their pain to be the last I see. This is a side effect of dying though; hurting the ones around you.

There is a great pain in my head. It is probably the war cry of cancer as it goes into its final battle. It knows it will win this time as nothing can stop it. I will gladly speed up the process as an enemy behind the lines; I am not proud of myself for giving up. My death will not be heroic and I will not hold on. I am strangely ready for this. I have faced so much over these past years and not once have I given up. My courage has been worn thin and tight like the skin of a drum. But cancer beats it heavily and rough, waiting for it to snap. There will be no replacement once this one breaks and I have to admit it is close.

My breathing gets much harder and my parents notice the struggle. They sit up to give me a good look over. I try a smile to reassure them – it will be okay. My dad starts to tear up at this but he attempts a smile back.

"Honey I want you to know you are the best daughter we could've asked for. I'm just sorry that we do not get more time with one another. We will miss watching American's Next Top Model with you and eating dinner at the table as a family. However I wouldn't want it any other way. You mean a lot to us Hazel and we will always hold you dear in our lives." His voice wavers and he cannot stop the flow of tears as they fall onto his shirt. My mom takes his hand in hers and I know they will survive as long as they have one another.

"I love you" I wheeze and take their hands in mine. "Thank you" I can feel myself slipping into unconsciousness. The world goes hazy but their faces remain.

"We love you Hazel Grace Lancaster. Sleep well."

Through the haze in my brain, I see someone; a tall figure with a slight limp walking towards me. My heart skips a beat as his features become clearer. I can make out the thin cigarette hanging from his mouth, crooked smile in place. He was wearing the same sky-blue button-down he travelled to Amsterdam in. I'd forgotten what a thrill I felt whenever I looked at him.

"Okay." He smiles, takes my hand in his leading me further away from consciousness. I guess he found that Something.


	5. Chapter 5

Here's the thing about Hazel: Almost everyone is obsessed with leaving a mark upon the world. Bequeathing a legacy. Outlasting death. We all want to be remembered. I do, too. That's what bothers me the most, is being another unremembered casualty in the ancient and inglorious war against disease.

I want to leave a mark.

The marks humans leave are too often scars. You build a hideous minimall or start a coup or try to become a rockstar and you think, "They'll remember me now," but (a) they don't remember you and (b) all you leave behind are more scars. Your coup becomes a dictatorship. Your minimall becomes a lesion.

We are like a bunch of dogs squirting on fire hydrants. We poison the groundwater with our toxic piss, marking everything MINE in a ridiculous attempt to survive our deaths. I can't stop pissing on fire hydrants. I know it's silly and useless – especially in my current state – but I am an animal like any other.

Hazel is different. She walks lightly. She walks lightly upon the earth. Hazel knows the truth. We're as likely to hurt the universe as we are to help it and we're not likely to do either.

People will say it's sad that she leaves a lesser scar that fewer remember her, that she was loved deeply but not widely. But it's not sad. It's triumphant. It's heroic. Isn't that the real heroism? Like the doctors say: First, do no harm.

The real heroes anyway aren't the people doing things; the real heroes are the people NOTICING things, paying attention. The guy who invented the smallpox vaccine didn't actually invent anything. He just noticed that people with cowpox didn't get smallpox.

After my PET scan lit up, I snuck into the ICU and saw her while she was unconscious. I just walked in behind the nurse with a badge, and I got to sit next to her for like ten minutes before I got caught. I really thought she was going to die before I could tell her that I was going to die too. It was brutal: the incessant mechanised haranguing of intensive care. She had this dark cancer dripping out of her chest. Eyes closed. Intubated. But her hand was still her hand, still warm and the nails painted this almost black ark blue and I just held her hand and tried to imagine the world without us and for about one second I was a good enough person to hope she died so she would never know I was going, too. But then I wanted more time so we could fall in love. I got my wish, I suppose. I left my scar.

A nurse guy came in and told me I had to leave, that visitors weren't allowed, and I asked if she was doing okay and the guy said. "She's still taking on water." A desert blessing, an ocean curse.

What else? She is so beautiful. You don't get tired of looking at her. You never worry if she is smarter than you: You know she is. She is funny without ever being mean. I love her. I am so lucky to love her. You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices. I hope she likes hers.


End file.
